


The Taos Hum

by lepusarcticus



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Phone Sex, bath fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-02
Updated: 2017-10-02
Packaged: 2019-01-08 04:52:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12247362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lepusarcticus/pseuds/lepusarcticus
Summary: inspired by the tumblr anon prompt “Skinner makes our agents take their vacation and they are at such a loss not seeing each-other every day they chat on the phone every night. Phone sex ensues.”





	The Taos Hum

 

Her cell rings at eleven forty-eight, while she’s cloistered in the steamy grotto of her bathroom, submerged in some hippie brew of jasmine oil and mineral salt that she bought at the farmer’s market. She flings water from her hand and dries her fingers in her hair before reaching over the side of the tub to retrieve it. She’s been expecting this. Expecting him. 

The phone rings a few more times in her palm, and she’s relishing that delicious moment before hearing him, that sweet anticipation that she can feel in her teeth - and then she gives in, thumbing the little green icon. 

“Scully,” she says into the receiver, trying not to sound like she’s purring. Three glasses of wine, and her muscles are hot and loose around her bones. 

“Are you familiar with the Taos Hum?” Down the line, Mulder is such a presence that it’s as if he’s in the room with her, wiping steam off of the mirror with a finely-muscled forearm, dipping his hand between her knees to swirl the bathwater.  _Stop it, Dana. Don’t._

“Hmm. Vaguely.” Five days without him, and she misses him like a limb. 

“For decades, residents of Taos, New Mexico, have been hearing a low frequency hum. Nobody seems to have been able to ascertain where it’s coming from, why it’s there, what it means." 

God, he’s got such a good voice. Scully curls her toes over the porcelain rim of the tub, letting her free hand drift over her belly, determined not to let herself notice it. "And what exactly about the Vineyard has you ruminating on the unexplained phenomena of the southwest? Shouldn’t you be looking into, oh, I don’t know, the Beast of Truro or pukwudgees or something?”   
  
He laughs under his breath, a sound that makes her mouth dry. “Wow, Scully, who knew you had such a comprehensive command of the monsters of New England. No, uh, I was just… thinkin’.” She hums. There’s a silence, and she thinks she hears him swallow.   
  
“So. You agree that there isn’t a, uh, satisfactory explanation or scientific precedence for the Taos Hum? Just going off of your usage of the term ‘unexplained phenomena’…”   
  
“That’s not what I meant, Mulder, and you know it. The hum could be caused by any number of things, from simple environmental acoustics to the sound of electric generators. Or perhaps these reports are simply cases of tinnitus brought on by the spontaneous otoacoustic emissions of the inner ear,” she says, absentmindedly tracing her nails down to the thatch of fur between her thighs. She realizes what she’s doing, and pulls her hand up quickly, sloshing the water.   
  
“…Scully? Where are you right now?” She can tell by the tone of his voice that he already knows, but the malbec is in her bloodstream, and it’s suddenly making her feel dangerous. She waits a beat. And then tests the waters.   
  
“I’m in the bath.” He exhales and clears his throat. Fuck, is he picturing her naked? She brings a warm, wet hand to her breast, running the backs of her nails around a rapidly tightening nipple, shivering as rivulets of water slip down her skin.  _Oh good Lord, Dana, what are you doing? He’s your partner -_ “Mmm. Anyway. Um. Mass delusion, maybe -”   
  
“-Thing is, the sound is different to everyone.” His voice is low now, words spilling slowly, and she can’t help but imagine those infuriating lips of his on the receiver. “No two descriptions are the same. Some hear… a high-pitched, keening noise. Some… hear a low growl. Or a long sigh on the wind.” Her fingers slip back underwater. Dare she? How would he ever know? She could so easily bring herself off just to the sound of his voice, and he’d be none the wiser… Down, down. What harm could it do? It could be her dirty little secret…   
  
“…Scully.” Oh, fuck. He knows.  
  
“Um,” she continues, unable to move her hand away from herself. “Well, perception is a slippery slope… often times, we can’t… separate the inner world of our intimate, personal experience…,” her fingers drift lower, feathering over her slit, “from the outer sensory world… and we could misinterpret the things that are happening… inside of us… as stimuli from an external source.” She slips two fingers between her lips, and the intake of breath is much louder than she intended. And Mulder groans.   
  
Oh god, he’s touching himself too. She knows it. The thought of him with his hand on his cock… his cock, fuck… is almost too much to handle. How did they get here so quickly?   
  
“Mm. Right. You can’t… taste your own tongue.” His would taste like coffee, like the wood from the pencils he’s always chewing on. Like salt. She imagines it on her neck, lapping at her cunt, flickering over her asshole. “And if one were to… become aware of the taste, suddenly… it might seem as though it was…”   
  
“Yeah,” she pants, and he rumbles in response. “So … the Taos Hum is likely just… in people’s heads… and those who hear it… interpret it … as coming from an outside source. Oh, God.”   
  
Her fingers on her clit now, rubbing hard, no more playing coy. Both of them breathing heavy over the line, building, building. “Fuuuuck,” he says, and it sounds like he’s got his teeth gritted, and the image of his jaw tensing sends her into rapture.   
  
“Ohmigod, ohmigod-” she breathes, catching her orgasm by the tail, yanking it back, and riding it into the sunset with a lascivious whine. Galaxies swirl behind her eyes, and she can hear him coming, roaring, muffled and distant, before the phone slips from her hand and splashes into the bath.   
  
Scully struggles to her feet in a panic, slopping the water everywhere, her knees still mid-orgasm weak. She scrambles for the phone, but it’s too late, it’s irrevocably waterlogged, and holy fuck, did she just have phone sex with Fox Fucking Mulder?   
  
Oh, Jesus Christ. Oh, no. Oh, this is not good at all. 


End file.
